


Cabin In The Woods

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Almost) Platonic Cuddling, Angst and Humor, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flirting, Loss of Virginity, Nightmares, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Trust Issues, Wanda Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: Clint and Wanda finally reach a place to hide, and there they start to re-evaluate their relationship. Sometimes a quiet spot is the only place to figure things out.





	1. Chapter 1

Wanda didn't have the nightmares at all while she and Clint were on the road. As long as they were traveling, the bad dreams didn't come, as if they couldn't catch up to her as long as she was in transit. Untroubled sleep was rare, so rare that she knew she probably couldn't trust it.

They ended up in Montana, and he'd made sure to ditch the car he'd stolen far enough from the cabin that no trace of them could be found. It was still winter, but the day was mild for the season. He carried most of their stuff, made sure she got her jacket. She'd been stretching out in the back seat to sleep while he drove. He'd been catching bits and pieces of rest, usually behind the wheel at rest stops. In case they needed to make a fast getaway. He'd seen two State Troopers speeding in their direction with sirens blaring at one point, had white-knuckled the wheel in response, but both cars had gone right past them. It had still taken him a couple of minutes to take his next full breath, though.

The sun had almost set when they reached the place, and the archer had taken Wanda's hand without considering it. They'd bonded during their time on the run, even beyond their status as comrades in arms and friends. Having to hide went against their natures, but it had also strengthened their relationship, put most of the lingering mistrust to rest. 

"I need to go to the bathroom." 

She said it through a yawn, and he ran one hand across the top of the doorjamb. The cabin was out of the way enough that they should be safe here, to the point that the key he found had likely never been discovered by anyone else. He unlocked the door, and Wanda brushed past him to make a beeline for the bathroom. "I shouldn't have let you have so much coffee at breakfast."

Wanda snorted out a laugh before she closed the door. "I was just trying to keep up with you, Barton."

Clint checked the pantry, found canned goods and basic staples. Enough food to last them, anyway. There was a microwave and, thank God, a coffee maker on the counter. He'd managed to access some of his money, an offshore account. Hopefully there would be a laptop somewhere, because there was no television in the small living room. He'd make sure there was a secure connection before trying to check the news.

Most of the furniture was draped with sheets, and he uncovered the couch before dropping his weight onto the cushion with a soft grunt. The long drive combined with so much caffeine had begun to take its toll, and he knew he'd probably sleep like a log that night. It was Wanda he wasn't sure about. They'd never discussed her nightmares, not really, and he didn't know if being in a strange place would help or hinder her ability to sleep. The archer rubbed one hand down the side of his face, looked over his shoulder towards the closed bathroom door. 

After tending to her ablutions, Wanda splashed water on her face, wondered about dinner. They'd been eating on the run as well, sticking to fast food so they wouldn't have to order from anyone who might remember them later. Hopefully they could have a real meal tonight.

She found herself looking forward to being here. Even having to run and hide, she'd become....secure, almost. It had loosened something between her and Clint, this having to rely on one another. She wasn't used to the trust extending beyond combat; other than Pietro, the archer was the only one who'd made such an effort to get close to her. The other Avengers had tried, but the damage hadn't been fully repaired yet. On either side. Sometimes she wondered if it was because he'd been able to anticipate her once that he felt confident of being able to stave her off. Other times, she wasn't sure she cared. It just felt good to have someone she felt she could trust.

"Did you go to sleep?"

Clint opened his eyes, because he _had_ almost dozed off, and she was hovering in the doorway, covering another yawn. There were two windows in the living room and one in the kitchen, and the dying rays of the sun were orange now. He smiled at her tiredly, and she joined him on the sofa. On the other end at first, and then she inched closer. 

"It's been a long day."

She studied her rings in silence, pondered the days to come. If it was to be exile, it certainly couldn't last long, could it? The world needed the Avengers, _all_ of the Avengers. Even her. And it wasn't so bad with it just being the two of them. Less noise in her head, if nothing else. 

"I can fix something to eat if you want. You must be tired of burgers by now."

The archer didn't answer, and when Wanda looked at him, he'd gone to sleep after all. She smiled a little, got up from the couch without jostling him. She could wake him once she'd put together a meal. Cooking was something she hadn't gotten to do much of at the compound, which had chefs on staff. She'd missed it.

This wasn't going to be so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

The dreams caught up, though, the way she'd feared they would.

Wanda fixed a passable stew, and she and Clint ate without making much conversation. He'd meant it when he'd said it had been a long day, and she'd been yawning since just before the drive ended. There were two bedrooms, and he'd let her pick which one she wanted while he looked for and found a laptop in the small storage space at the top of a closet. He set it up while she showered and changed for bed, then left it until the morning. They could both use a good night's sleep, and he bid her goodnight before turning off the lights. The archer dropped into slumber almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his belly full of food and his eyelids heavy.

Wanda dreamed.

_They were back in the lab, she and Pietro, strapped and buckled down as the experiments began all over again. The wounds from Mama and Papa's deaths not yet healed, bloody and raw with no scar tissue for protection. Screaming, always screaming because it hurt so much, and yet she'd known that she wouldn't die. Death, perhaps, would have been too much of a mercy, and besides, if she died her brother would be alone. Strucker's face hovering above her, his eyes intent on her unfocused gaze, her nose drip-drip-dripping blood as her temples throbbed in time with her heartbeat. 'Not perfect yet, but you will be.'_

_Death. Death and blood and pain, and feeling Pietro die, almost having the sensation of the bullets piercing her flesh along with his. Feeling it without seeing it, his life seeping away. Leaving her alone in a world that saw her as a monster..._

"Wanda!"

She'd only woken him because he'd heard the garbled noises she was making, because Wanda never screamed when she had nightmares. And if the door hadn't been half-open, Clint still might not have heard her anyway. He hovered at the threshold of the room, the hairs on his arms prickling with unease. She was twisted up in the covers, the sheets tangled around her legs as she tried to fight free, and he gingerly approached because there was nothing else for it. He couldn't stand there and do nothing, even if waking her was a chancy proposition.

"Wanda..."

It was like dark water, dark and cold and bottomless, and she made another garbled sound. Almost like a sob, but without tears. When he touched her, put his hand on her shoulder, she batted him away clumsily, and the archer retreated. But only for a moment. He couldn't imagine what it was like to live inside her skin, inside her head with all of those memories. The bed sagged as Clint put one knee on the mattress, and he _very_ slowly added more weight. If she blasted him in her sleep, there'd be no one to help them. Him _or_ her.

n the midst of the terror, she felt the presence of another body in the bed, and one arm snaked out. Her brother? No, that was wrong, she knew that was wrong, but she reached anyway. Wanda looped the arm around a midsection, felt something solid. Huddled against it, and she was still asleep, shaking so badly that her teeth had begun to chatter. No tears, though. When she was awake, she often wondered if Pietro's death had put her beyond weeping. And the body next to her was too large to be her brother. But still she clung, trembling like the branches of one of the bare trees outside.

Clint murmured something, he wasn't sure what, and his heart clenched because she'd never grabbed onto him like this before. She'd told him some of it, what had transpired in the years after the elder Maximoffs had died, but he suspected that he'd barely heard half of the story. The sheets were still tangled around her, but he didn't move. His hand was on the small of her back, and when she snuffled against his shoulder, his palm started a slow circle. He wished he could do something for her, _anything_ , but she kept most of her hurts to herself. In the darkness, the archer lay quietly, trying to soothe what he could of her pain.

After a while, Wanda stopped shivering, and after a longer while, she became conscious that she was not alone in the bed. She shifted, and her arm retracted when she saw Clint's eyes. Even in the dimness, she could feel his scrutiny, the concern in his face. She immediately tried to retreat, feeling embarrassed and childish. 

"I...I woke you. I'm sorry."

The archer shook his head, turning his gaze towards the ceiling. "I don't mind. I guess maybe I wasn't as asleep as I thought."

Wanda pulled away a little more, trying to compose herself. She wasn't a little girl, hadn't been a little girl for a long time, and she didn't want him thinking she was fragile. He had no idea what she'd already survived, not really. She pulled back further. Clint stayed where he was.

"You can go back to bed, Barton," she said, her voice nettled. She was only annoyed because she didn't like the vulnerability she felt, or that sometimes she couldn't stand that he treated her like she was worth something. Something other than a weapon or a tool, a wind-up toy to be deployed at specific times. Even Vision had cautioned her about the likelihood that she could hurt people, and Vision was as much of a friend as artificial intelligence could be. Not that he'd been _wrong_ , because her abilities had done little besides cause pain, but the archer had never behaved as if she was anything but....

Normal.

"You sure?"

He was studying her, and the lack of light made it difficult to read her expression, but you didn't have to be an empath to feel the discomfort coming off of her. His fingers brushed hers, and she allowed it for a second before drawing her hand away. He opened his mouth to say something, then set his teeth together because he didn't know what to say.

"I'm sure. I shouldn't have worried you."

_Can't you see it, that I've done nothing but hurt others since I became...this? You should have left me behind, in that prison. I couldn't break anything else there._

Clint rose from the bed, and he could _almost_ grasp it, the thing that bothered her the most. He watched her turn onto her other side, facing away from him. The slump in her shoulders hurt him, but if he pushed she would only retreat further into herself. Maybe the daylight would help. He hoped.

"Well, if you need anything...I'm just down the hall."


	3. Chapter 3

Clint slept until well past one in the afternoon, making up for the deficit he'd incurred on the road, and he was disoriented when he woke up, forgetting where he was until he rolled over to reach for the alarm clock and found it not there. The sun was coming in through the blinds, and the floor was cold when his bare feet hit it. He reclaimed his socks and put them on, then snagged a shirt from atop the duffel bag he'd brought inside and dragged it over his head. 

Wanda's door was still closed when he stepped out into the hall, and he considered it before deciding not to check on her. He hadn't heard anything else from her room since she'd insisted he return to his own bed, and he supposed it was better to keep his distance. One of the reasons they got along was that he didn't often push, and he suspected that his efforts to get closer to her had been helped by his lack of insistence. 

The stew was cold when he took the lid off of the pot, and he scooped some into a bowl and put it in the microwave. When it dinged, he ate, then set the bowl and spoon in the metal sink. He could wash up later, because there was no dishwasher. This was one of S.H.E.L.D.'s most rudimentary - and least used - hideouts, but the archer didn't mind that. Some of the tech they used was very nice, but sometimes he liked doing things on his own.

He went outside to find the day just as mild as the one before, and he reached back through the doorway to pick up his shoes. The road was a good half-mile from the cabin, and even without leaves the trees provided decent cover. Still...maybe he should find some good-sized branches, ones that would hold his weight. In case he needed to keep watch. High alert was never a bad idea, sanctuary or no sanctuary.

When Wanda finally roused herself from sleep, she felt much better than she had the night before. She lay quietly for a little while longer, though, looking at the dingy paint on the ceiling and thinking that it had been a while since this place had seen much upkeep. There was no noise coming from the small common area, and she reluctantly left the warm bed behind to see if Barton was up and around yet. 

The archer was nowhere in sight, but there was a bowl with bits of stew still in it in the sink. A spoon rested in the center of it. Wanda turned on the water, wrinkled her nose when it came out slightly rust-colored. But it ran clear after a minute, and she rinsed them out before putting them in the plastic dry rack. No dish soap. She made a mental note to look for some later. The digital clock on the microwave told her it was 2:30. No sign of Clint yet. His shoes were missing, but his bow was still next to the door, where he'd put it when they'd come in. The laptop he'd found was on the coffee table, the screen still dark. 

_Maybe he left._

She twitched away from the thought, an instinctive flinch. That was paranoia, and besides, he wouldn't leave without his weapons. He wouldn't leave _her_.

She went to the door, resisted the urge to open it and look for him. The archer wouldn't just wander off, leave her behind. He'd done his best to prove himself loyal, recognizing how fragile her trust was. Wanda took a step away from the closed door, then another. He'd come back. He would.

To distract herself, she prowled around the cabin, and she found a stack of paperback books, which she carried back to the couch. Mystery. Mystery. Western. Mystery. Romance. Wanda's nose wrinkled slightly, and she set the book aside, out of reach. American romance novels were so unrealistic, and she tried to picture Barton propping his feet up on the coffee table to read such a thing. That made her snort out a laugh, so she attempted to picture Natasha doing it instead. That wasn't really a good fit either.

Outside, Clint had found a supply of firewood neatly stacked next to the sole outbuilding, and he set the logs on the tiny porch before opening the door. He spotted Wanda as he carried the wood inside, set it next to the hearth. If the temperature dipped that night, he could make sure the flue was clean, start a fire. Make it homey. Domestic, almost.

_Domestic._

Wanda had picked up one of the books when the door started to open, and she was busily pretending to read it as Barton studied the fireplace. She didn't want him thinking she'd been worried. Fretting, even a little. When he crouched down, then leaned forward, she made herself concentrate on the words on the page.

"Did you eat anything? There's still plenty of stew."

"I'll have something later."

"It's a pretty day outside. Really clear. I was expecting it to be colder, but even without cloud cover its not that bad."

Clint dropped his weight on the couch, looked at the computer before settling back against the cushion. "I see you found Cap's secret stash." He indicated the small stack of books, and Wanda looked up at him over the top of what she was pretending to read. Her eyebrows lifted, and she searched his face for even a hint of amusement. 

"Rogers?" She lowered the book farther, and Clint nodded. "Cap's a cornball, always has been," he told her, and Wanda studied his expression more closely, but his eyes didn't waver.

The small moment of camaraderie lightened things for her, and she closed the book and set it aside. "Are you..." 

"Am I...?"

"Angry at me." The sentence turned up at the end, almost a question, but she said it so quickly that he almost didn't catch it. "Because of last night?"

The archer rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and he should have expected that. He held his hand out, palm downwards, to where she sat on the opposite end of the sofa. Her rings caught the light coming in through the front window as their fingers interlocked, and he bundled her into his lap. He bundled, and she let herself _be_ bundled.

Clint had tried to explain it to Natasha once, because she was his closest friend on the team, and maybe a little because he was trying to put it into terms _he_ could understand. Wanda was a head-turner, but she was so skittish and prickly that it was difficult to even get a conversation started. But it was more than that, even if he hadn't fully realized the attraction until he'd watched her try to fight off The Raft's guards before one of them tranqed her. Seeing her resist their efforts to put the harness on her without hurting them by using her powers had solidified it for him - underneath whatever wounds she still bore, Wanda had the heart of a lion. In the Now, she put her head on his shoulder, and they sat on the dusty sofa for a while without saying anything.

"I know you're still having the dreams. I get it. You don't...you don't have to explain or apologize."

She made a noise, neither assent or disagreement. His arm around her made her feel safe, protected, and those were things she wasn't entirely familiar with yet. She'd acclimated to her environment as best she could, made some adjustments, but his solidity had helped in anchoring her. Wanda took hold of Clint's other wrist, lifted his hand so she could study it. His calluses were rough against her palm when she aligned their fingers, and they both noted the difference, how small her hand was in comparison.

"I like how quiet you are," she said, releasing his wrist. "In here." She tapped his chest, the space above his heart, and his arm tightened fractionally. Tony and Steve might be the ones who drew the most attention, their personalities not as easy to contain, but Wanda appreciated how at peace Barton was. You might have to pay more attention to see what was going on with him, but a little effort made what she'd found all the more worthwhile. She put a hand on the back of his neck, played with his hair for a second. His nose bumped her jaw, and she tipped her chin upwards a single notch. Not quite flirting, but not quite _not_ flirting either. Mostly they were just sitting in the silence, him getting used to the weight of her in his lap, and her deciding that she wasn't going to be left behind this time.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint had thought it would be weirder, sharing such close quarters with Wanda. They often spent time together at the compound and in the field, sure, but he'd had it in his head that they'd need time to get acclimated. And not just that, but get used to the stillness outside, especially at night. The archer didn't mind it, finding the silence enjoyable after the almost constant noise at Stark Tower and the compound, which was never truly quiet, even at two in the morning. But Wanda had grown up in a war zone, and he'd wondered initially if she would find lack of sound unnerving. If it would have her on edge, waiting for something to crash in on their small haven.

But she seemed to have adjusted, and after several days he let out a soft sigh of relief. After several more days, he stopped watching her quite so closely, making sure she wasn't about to start at every little noise. He wasn't sure about the dreams, and wasn't sure of how to ask without prying. The brief cuddle session they'd had on the couch indicated that she didn't mind being held, even liked it, but he didn't want to press his luck. That he thought about it as often as he did, that firm little butt settled so close to his groin, was something he very carefully blanked from his mind whenever she was in range. Not being sure of how her abilities worked kept him on his toes, and he didn't want her to see anything he didn't want her to see. Call it a crush, go a step farther and call it an infatuation, he didn't want to lay that burden on her.

For Wanda's part, she liked taking walks on the trail she'd found through the woods. The weather was crisp but not frigid, and while the peaceful setting _had_ left her perturbed at first, she was gradually getting used to it. Having Clint just down the hall might have helped, though. When she felt shaky, she would sit in the living room with one lamp on, and more often than not he would come sit beside her, sometimes even slipping an arm around her shoulders. 

It had occurred to her when she'd first become part of the team that his reaching out to her had expectations to it, that he would want her to do things with him. _To_ him. She was ashamed of that; after all, he'd been nothing but decent to her almost from the outset, and this wasn't Sokovia, where acts of kindness were to be looked at with suspicion and mistrust. She'd even been tempted to read him, look at any unspoken intentions he might have, but she'd refrained because she didn't want him to be angry with her. Feel violated, the way she'd violated his friends. If he had any untoward thoughts about her, she'd prefer not to have to break his trust.

Besides....maybe she _liked_ it when he put his arm around her.

Wanda was still a virgin, both because of the powers she had and because of Pietro, who had been almost militantly protective of her after their parents died. There had been more than one boy who had gone home with a bloody nose because he'd tried to put his hands where they weren't invited, and even when they were desperate for a full meal her brother had forbidden her to use her body to procure food. She had never asked him where he'd gotten the money to feed them, had never dared to, and once they fell in with Hydra they had no longer needed to worry about who paid for their meals. _That_ came with other costs.

Would he have approved, her brother? Knowing she and Clint had bonded, become friends outside of what had become her new 'work'? Wanda wasn't sure. Camaraderie was one thing, but the more complex feeling she got when he gave her his hand or put his arm across her shoulders was another. As chaste as it was, it gave her a sense of nervous tension that had nothing to do with if he intended to hurt her or not. His inner quiet lulled her, but his hands on her didn't. Not always.

She was making her way back to the cabin, having noted that the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon. The left pocket of her jeans was half-full with little stones, pebbles shot through with quartz. Wanda was a magpie at heart, liked things that sparkled and shone, and she would put them on her windowsill to catch the sun. This was not home, but she wanted to make it hers, at least a little.

Her cheeks were pink from the bite in the air when she stepped inside, and she spotted Clint's shoes in front of the couch. She had almost stopped immediately panicking when she found him not in sight, and there was a half-eaten sandwich on a paper plate on the coffee table. She used the bathroom, then went into her room to inspect and set out her little haul of rocks where they'd catch the light best.

Clint heard the front door open and close, and he paused in his solitaire game before returning to the cards. He'd taken to only monitoring the news every other day, and the last report related to the escape from The Raft indicated that the trail had gone cold. He wondered how close to a solution they were over it, how long the government intended to pursue the matter. Couldn't be that much longer, since sooner or later some catastrophe would happen and the world would conveniently forget that they'd decided the Avengers couldn't always be trusted. The archer placed a seven of spades on top of the eight of hearts, glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Six after six in the evening. When he picked up the mug of coffee he'd brought in from the living room, it had gone cold. 

"You hungry? You were gone for most of the day, did you make a sandwich before you left?"

He asked it from the kitchen, and Wanda poked her head out into the hall to reply, "I ate a big breakfast, but I probably could eat something." 

He dumped the cold coffee into the sink, fixed a fresh cup after rinsing out the basin. "You have a good walk out there? I'm surprised there hasn't been snow yet, but its probably just as well there hasn't." 

"I like it outside. The cold smells like home."

Clint took his coffee into the living room, ate some more of his sandwich. He was keeping tabs on their supplies, making sure they didn't run low on essentials. It would be too risky for one of them to have to leave and resupply, cold trail or no cold trail. But they were in good shape, so he decided that one less thing to worry about wasn't a bad thing. He looked in the direction of her room, lowered his weight onto the sofa. 

"You miss it sometimes, huh?"

In her room, Wanda looked over her shoulder at the open door, considering the question. Did she miss Sokovia, which had been caught in the path of a war that had dragged her and her brother into it before they were old enough to understand the 'why' of it? The destruction of their home, the deaths of their parents, all that had followed had brought her to this place, but did she miss it? She directed her gaze to the black rock she was holding, which had a thin, bright streak of quartz running through the middle of it. 

"Yes. Sometimes. Every now and then."

She had moved to stand on the threshold of the common area, the stone a negligible weight in her right hand. "I remember the way it was when I was a child. Even later, I thought of that time and wished it could be like that again. As terrible as it could be, home is home."

He smiled at her sympathetically, finished off his sandwich. "I'll fix something later if you want," he offered, and she nodded, rolling the smooth pebble back and forth in her palm. He wondered if missing the native dishes she'd grown up with, the food she was most familiar with, was part of missing the place in general. Maybe she'd have felt more at home in the compound if someone had asked. 

Her shoes made muted noises on the uncarpeted floor, and she approached the sofa but didn't sit down. She'd found more books in the tiny closet in her room, and he was teaching her to play poker. He'd found a dusty backgammon set, and when it turned out he didn't know how to play she offered to teach him in exchange. If she watched his hands a little too closely sometimes, if his gaze settled on her mouth and didn't falter before he caught himself doing it, they had yet to discuss it. 

"You can have this one."

Wanda carefully put the black stone on the arm of the dark green couch, keeping it from rolling off onto the floor. The thin stream of quartz glittered up at them, and Clint picked it up, surprised and strangely touched. He looked at her questioningly, and her narrow left shoulder went up and down, a noncommittal gesture. His mouth quirked upwards, and she smiled back shyly. The pebble was still a little warm from contact with her body heat on the way back to the cabin, and he closed his fingers around it, doing his damnedest not to register how kissable her mouth looked. Even when she brushed his knuckles with the tips of her fingers.

"I think I will take a nap," she said. "Wake me if you want help with cooking. I feel as if I don't do enough to help you, and you've done so much to make things easier for me."

She retreated, and he watched her disappear from sight with the strangest tightness in his chest. _Just a crush. Just a crush. Just a crush._

And his treacherous subconscious snickered and said, **Right.**


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next week and a half, the temperature started to drop, and even though the skies remained mostly clear Clint could tell that snow was a possibility. He and Wanda had established a routine of sorts, where they would take turns cooking meals and then wash the dishes together. He'd check the news, and the chill in the air had him monitoring the weather reports too. Getting snowed in out here, with no one aware of where they were, was something he had a quiet dread of. But he put himself to work building up their firewood supplies, then took a careful tally of the pantry. He might worry, but he wasn't going to borrow trouble where there might not be any.

Wanda noticed, though, because Wanda noticed everything. Being at such close proximity to the archer had made her attuned to his moods, and as the weather got colder he spent a lot of time outside, using the axe he'd found in the outbuilding to split logs and make them suitable for burning. He would come in red-cheeked, drink some coffee, then either nap on the couch or play cards with her. With little to do other than wait for the world to forget that it had a problem with the Avengers as a whole, the two of them had found less and less reason to step lightly around one another.

"Do you miss them? Your friends?"

She asked the question one evening while they tended to the dishes, Clint washing while Wanda dried. They hadn't talked much about the others at all since the escape, not even Steve. Cap was usually the peacemaker among them, and even though Tony often kidded about him actually being in charge, it wasn't entirely not the truth. They _did_ look to Steve more often than not; because of his age, because of his war experiences, because at heart he was a big, earnest goofball who gave it his best shot. The archer shrugged lightly, handed her a plate he was finished with.

"Yeah, I do." 

Clint picked up a glass, looking down at the silverware where it lay soaking in the sudsy water. He wondered how the others were faring, if they'd managed to get away. If the Avengers who were still standing after the last debacle were still able to fight the good fight. One of the drawbacks of being so far off the grid was that he couldn't keep track, not even send up a flare to see who was okay and who wasn't. Beside him at the sink, Wanda was silent, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Y'know, they're your friends too."

"Are they?"

Because she'd begun to wonder. Tony had tried his damnedest to keep her on the sidelines, claiming he wanted her to be safe, and Vision, who she had taken into her confidence, had backed Stark, implying - no, not implying, _inferring_ that others would be harmed if she left the grounds. And Natasha...what would Romanov do the next time they saw one another? Granted, Barton _had_ been pulling his punches, but she'd been the one to intervene. Trust was difficult enough for her without having to worry that the people who were allegedly on her side would decide what was best for her without her consent. Lukewarm water sloshed in the basin as she pushed the flatware around.

"Yeah. Yeah, they are." 

How to explain it? Clint chose his words carefully, aware that Wanda's bullshit detector was always on. "Tony's high-handed and always has been. All that money and all those smarts, and he could have done anything else, but he chose this. And yeah, sometimes he _does_ think he sees what's best, sees it and acts accordingly, and when he's wrong, he's really wrong. But he's right a lot too, even when he's going around his ass to get to his elbow."

Wanda darted a look at him, her forehead puckering, because she'd never heard that before, and against her will she smiled. A very small smile, but a smile. "I wish I could be as trusting," she said, looking away again, and Clint said nothing because it seemed as if there was nothing to say. "It is difficult, being vulnerable. To not know when the hurting might start, even when it's unintentional."

He washed and she dried, and the silence lasted. The window that gave them a view of the yard was clean because she'd done some tidying while he was out, and the encroaching darkness allowed him to look at her reflection. She spoke of trust, and he wondered if she associated him with what had to be the most crushing pain she'd ever felt. Measuring that against his fledgling attraction to her, he felt unworthy, as if he shouldn't have such thoughts. Not when her wounded spirit might be partly his fault.

It was possible that she sensed something off with him. Despite her abilities, Wanda was not actually psychic and she couldn't read minds, but the archer's silent stoicism had layers to it. She looked at the window above the sink, found him watching her in the dark glass, his reflection a little distorted. The silence held, and the shivery feeling she got when he looked at her for long enough rippled across her shoulders. 

"You are my friend."

The way she said it, the conviction in her voice when she'd just said that trust was difficult for her, actually made Clint blush, and he looked down into the soapy water so she wouldn't catch it. _Wash the damn dishes, Barton_ , he ordered himself, but his hands had kept up their busy pace despite his wandering train of thought. Apparently his hands were smarter than his brain. Annoying thought, that.

"I am your friend?"

It was a question, a slightly teasing one, and when he looked at her, she was pretending to pout. Before he could stop himself, he dabbed a bit of the suds on the tip of her nose, allowing himself the luxury of thinking that he'd _really_ like to kiss that pout right off of her face. Real or pretend, it ratcheted her adorability level to eleven. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm your friend."

_He's flirting!_

As inexperienced as she was, Wanda was not entirely naive, and the realization was a strangely giddy one. And it might have slipped right past her if it hadn't been for the faint twinkle in Clint's eyes when he touched her nose. The suds tickled, and she wiped them away with the pad of her thumb after a moment. Her cheeks had pinkened. Trust _was_ a high wall to climb for her, but the archer had been consistently steadfast. And he was so cute when he smiled at her like that. 

She went up on her toes just a notch, because he wasn't that much taller than she was, and Clint's scruffy jaw left her skin reddened when the kiss broke. It was the first time she'd kissed him instead of the other way around, and when he said, "Sorry," he didn't know what he might be apologizing for, other than the slight beard rash. Wanda shook her head, still watching his eyes.

"You shouldn't be. I'm not."

She left it like that, and he eventually went back to washing, so they could finish with the dishes. He could still feel the press of her mouth, not quite as innocent as he'd imagined. Sleep was going to be a long time coming that night.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, the dreams were very bad. The worst they'd been in a while, almost as if they were a punishment for daring to be happy and relaxed. 

The nightmare fragmented when Wanda woke up, splinters of terror prodding her back to consciousness as she fought free of slumber. The cabin was utterly silent, but her heart was beating so loudly that she couldn't believe Clint couldn't hear it in the next room. The sheet was tangled around her legs, and her pajamas were damp with sweat. She'd cried in her sleep, because her cheeks were wet when she ran her hands over her face.

No more sleep tonight, then.

Still only half-awake, Wanda padded into the living room, the lightweight cotton of her pajamas sticking unpleasantly to her shoulders, her legs. Clint's door was closed. She stood in the middle of the common area, turning on one dim lamp. The wind was blowing outside, she could hear it rustling the trees. The ashes of last night's fire had gone cold and gray in the hearth.

When she opened the door, the wind had just picked up, and Wanda closed her eyes and simply stood there, letting it dry the sweat and the tears even as she started to shiver. The cold smelled like home, like Sokovia, or like Sokovia before her parents died. Her feet were bare, and she stepped farther outside, leaving the door open. The wood of the little porch was icy against the soles of her feet, the overhang offering scant protection from the bite in the air. There was a moon, a bright clear one throwing silver light on the frosty ground in front of the cabin. 

She stepped even farther outside, the cold air cutting through the thin fabric of her pajamas, and gooseflesh had broken out on her back and shoulders, down her legs. But being out here, where the nightmare couldn't follow her, was better than being in her room. Where it might be able to.

"Wanda?"

Clint had heard the door open, because the quiet was so complete at night that you could almost hear an owl fly by overhead, and he'd gone for his bow almost before he was fully awake and aware. But when the silence lingered, when nothing untoward happened, he got up, pushing the covers off and feeling the chill from outside coming in through the still-open door.

She was in the yard when he poked his head outside, just standing in the grass, and he could see the footprints in the frost. The moon was gradually being obscured by clouds, and he smelled snow. A few flakes might even have fallen while he hovered where he was, but he couldn't tell. He was too busy staring at her.

"Wanda?"

She turned, noticed the archer standing in the door she'd left open, and she was shivering harder now, her mouth turned down at the corners. She rubbed at her arms, but it didn't do much good. Her bare toes curled into the grass, which crunched quietly. 

"Oh, honey..."

He went back inside and took the blanket off of his bed, then carried it outside. Because he'd seen her expression and the tracks of fresh tears on her cheeks, and damn it, it wasn't _right_. Life was hard enough without her having to suffer even in her sleep. Her small shoulders were trembling when he put the blanket over them, and he imagined he could feel the goosebumps through fabric when he put his arm around her waist. He carefully turned her around, and though she didn't resist she didn't help much either. 

Clint considered pouring them both some coffee once he shut and bolted the door, then decided against it. Sleep was better for Wanda than caffeine, and he settled her on the sofa, the blanket still draped over her shoulders. He was wearing pajamas bottoms and nothing else. He sat down next to her, then eased into a horizontal position, pulling her after him. He dragged the blanket up and over them, using it to trap his body heat so he could share it with her. She looked up at him just as the blanket stopped billowing, and the question she asked was one she'd been almost afraid to give voice to.

"Why are you always so kind to me?"

"Because not enough people have been."

Her chin quivered as her eyes filled, and she put her face against the side of Clint's neck before she could thoroughly humiliate herself. But she cried anyway, tears falling in silence as she huddled against him, breathing in the clean smell of his skin and feeling his heart _thump-thumping_ steadily beneath his ribs. 

He'd have apologized for making her cry, but he wasn't sure if she wanted silence or not. Besides, it was the most honest thing he could have said. He'd seen her at her worst, and he'd seen her at the lowest point anyone could reach and come back from it. He supposed she was still fighting her way back, cutting through the underbrush. If he had had one handy, he'd have given her a machete.

"I'm not worth it."

It was a mumble, a watery one, and the arm around her squeezed. A bolstering touch, but also half a warning. "None of that talk," Clint said firmly, and Wanda lifted her face to look at him. Wary and mistrustful and so lovely that she could break his heart. He touched her face, brushed at the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I say you are."

The archer's voice had such conviction that Wanda's expression shifted, and she altered her position so that she could look more fully into his face. He still hadn't shaved, and she'd decided she liked the scruff. He'd left the lamp on before he'd pulled the blanket up, and she studied his eyes with an intensity that belied her youth. The index finger of her right hand trailed over his bristly jaw, and he turned his face into it. She cupped his cheek, her palm resting there lightly, and when he kissed the heel of her hand she let out a breath she'd not known she'd taken and held. 

"Pretty girl."

He could have kissed her, broken the standoff, but he wanted her to decide for herself. The weight of her, the press of her breasts on his bare chest, was a hell of a lure. Clint made himself not reach, though. He just looked up at her.

Wanda touched the archer's chest, feeling the hair prickling against her palm. The faint lines around his eyes, the hard muscles of his shoulders, the callused hands that were so gentle when he touched her. She squirmed against him, her thighs parting so one could rest on either side of him. It was a man's body. When she felt his cock start to harden, pressing against the inside of her thigh, her mouth twitched into a smile, and a silvery giggle escaped from her throat.

"I think that finds me pretty, too."

"It, uh....its been kind of a while."

He barely finished the sentence before she kissed his mouth, her lips making contact, and her clever little tongue slipped past his bottom lip for an instant. Wanda was nothing if not a fast learner, and she liked the quietly intense archer who insisted that she had value. Even when she didn't entirely believe it.

She tucked herself back against his side, the warmth of him making her feel cozy. Sleepy, even, which was almost a miracle, considering that she'd been convinced she wouldn't be able to close her eyes again tonight. Her long hair spilled over the edge of the couch, and she felt him run his fingers through it hesitantly.

"Go to sleep, pretty girl."

Clint said it in a murmur, and there would probably be snow by morning. He would have to get the shovel from the storage shed outside, in case he needed to clear a path. He kissed Wanda's temple, a chaste thing considering that he was still half-hard, but he very much liked the soft press of her breasts against his side. And though he would never take advantage.....he did hope she'd decide she wanted to expand on that.


	7. Chapter 7

It _did_ snow that night, and when Clint woke up Wanda was already awake and moving around. The world beyond the front window was a blanket of white silence, and the archer looked out at it before twitching the curtains shut to keep out some of the glare. The blanket they'd been sleeping under was crumpled into a corner of the sofa. He picked it up and started to fold it into a more manageable square, his brow creasing into a slight frown.

' _Go to sleep, pretty girl_.'

He could hear it in his head, and the frown turned into a scowl. The endearment had slipped out, brought on by the closeness and the attachment he was developing. No, not attachment. Attraction. Clint looked in the direction of the kitchen, where he could hear Wanda rattling around putting things away and humming something unrecognizable. Okay, he was attracted to her. That didn't mean anything had to happen, for something to come of it. He was too old or she was young or he didn't want to take advantage of her, joining the line of people who had exploited her in the past. He might have thought he wanted to feel her pressed tight up against him - and maybe he did - but that was at close to three in the morning. In the cold light of day...

Clint finished folding the blanket, carried it into his room and put it on the bed. The worst thing was, there was no way he could avoid her, because they were here until things calmed down. He couldn't even contact Natasha, see if she'd heard anything. Off the grid was off the grid, and that gave him two choices. Address it straight on, which would mean an admission on his part, or shut his mind down so tight when she was around that she couldn't pick it up by accident. Turn his thoughts into white noise. Neither was an attractive option. 

When Clint stepped into the kitchen, Wanda looked up from stacking plates in the cupboard, and they studied each other in silence for several minutes. She was a combination of innocence and too much knowledge, and she'd felt his erection the night before. She'd only moved first, not stayed on the sofa with him, because she wanted to sort out the significance of it. One of the hazards of being almost constantly surrounded by attractive people was that she'd discovered she had a sex drive after all, just an untested one. She cocked her head at him, expression assessing. He was the only one in years who had approached her without fear since her powers manifested. The others tried, especially Rogers, but there was always an unspoken _something_ in the air. 

"Wanda..."

"Do I please you?"

"What?"

The directness of it flummoxed him, though he knew it shouldn't have. Wanda was still looking at him, and he felt the pull of her stare, the want for...something, whatever she was looking for. He took a step towards her, then another step. Their heights were similar enough that he could maintain eye contact, and when he took her hand her slender fingers interlocked with his. 

"Do I please you?"

Her voice was more insistent this time, almost sharp, and the archer lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Because Christ yes, she pleased him; her warmth and her softness, how young and simultaneously mature she was, that she was tough. Unbreakable, despite everything. 

"Yeah. Yeah, you do."

And that was what she'd needed, to hear it out loud. That she was more to him than a friend and teammate, more than a mass of issues of abilities she didn't always have a handle on. His fingers were callused and strong where they were still intertwined with hers.

He tugged and she went, and when he kissed her, there was a respectful quality to it, in direct proportion to how much he cared. But there was a thrum underneath it too, a combination of his inner quiet and the kinetic energy that lived within her. The fingers of her free hand threaded into his short hair. They'd been this far and farther before, but this was the first time it felt...

Real.

"Such a pretty girl."

His fingers were combing through the long, clean strands of her hair, and she made that happy, silvery noise again before snuggling closer. He let go of her hand, but it was so he could put his arm around her. Where this would go from here, what was next, he had no idea. But he'd rounded the corner between going backwards and not going backwards, and he really didn't _want_ to go backwards anyway.

Wanda put her head on the archer's chest, listened to the peaceful thumping of his heart. This went beyond safety, because she yearned for his touch, and had he wanted to take advantage he'd have done it by now. It was safety and trust and desire, and he made her _happy_. 

"You please me too, Barton."


	8. Chapter 8

When it happened, it was as if they'd just been waiting for enough time to pass. They'd been sharing a bed for a week, Clint's logic being that the mornings were cold enough that they could conserve warmth that way. She got used to the sight of his bedhead in the mornings, and if she got a little too much enjoyment out of waking up with his arm around her or his front spooned up against her back - and sometimes an erection pressed against her backside - she allowed him to avoid the subject. But it hummed between them, and she felt the weight of his affection as much as he sensed the intensity of her desire. 

The temperature had dropped twenty more degrees, and extra snow blanketed what had already fallen. The archer had spent most of the day shoveling a path to the outbuilding, where he retrieved most of their firewood and carried it to the covered porch. He covered it with a tarp before stepping back inside, ears red from the cold. He pulled off his gloves with his teeth, dropped them on the coffee table. Wanda was in her room with the door closed.

Clint ran the shower hot, stripped out of his clothes. The hear of the water turned his back and shoulders pink while he stood under the spray, and when he'd mostly thawed out he shut it off, then snagged a towel. He wiped the steam off of the mirror after slicking his hair back, studied himself in the water-streaked glass. 

He was still in good shape physically. You couldn't be out in the field full time and be a couch potato, and if the slight softness in his midsection was something he was noticing only now, it was a small thing. Nothing Wanda had mentioned, but he _did_ wonder. If - when - they went back to the real world, would she look around and realize she could get someone, if not better, then younger? The archer sucked in his belly, idly rubbing his hair with the towel.

"Barton? Barton, I heated up some stew and fixed some fresh..."

The word 'coffee' dwindled away into silence as Wanda stopped for just an instant too long in the doorway, and then she retreated to stand with her back against the jamb. She'd never seen him naked before. He'd been careful about that, even here, getting dressed in the bathroom with the door fully shut or before she woke up. Her cheeks were warm, and she paused before poking her head back into the smaller room. Clint went to wrap the towel around his waist. 

"I want to see. Please?"

He looked up at her, saw the blush, and his hands relaxed a fraction at the time. _She's not a kid, despite you telling her she could go back to high school._ His care for her had only intensified during this time of isolation, and if he worried about anything it was about himself, not about her. 

She took a step forward, then another. He had scars, whitish marks on his arms and another, larger one near his shoulder. She had an affinity for healed wounds, if only because all of hers were on the inside. She traced one with the tip of her index finger, then inched closer to press her half-open mouth against the one on his chest. Clint let out a shuddering breath.

"Wanda..."

"No."

Because there was no choice now but to live, to not hesitate out of fear. She'd been angry and afraid for most of her life, carrying enough rage to burn an entire city to the ground. And while she would never again be the carefree, innocent girl she'd once been, she would rather go forward than backwards. This man, this _good_ man, had climbed over the razor-wire of her hostility to touch the places where she hurt. The archer let out a muffled groan when the tip of her tongue flicked over the scar.

Wanda looked up when his agile hands cupped her ass, and the heat in his expression made her knees tremble. "Such a pretty girl."

"I like it when you call me pretty girl."

He backed her out of the room, dropping the towel somewhere behind him. She was dressed for bed, and she reached up with questing hands as he eased her onto the mattress. His unshaven jaw abraded her neck delightfully, and her voice was ragged when she said, "Stay with me. I...I need..."

He was awash in the smell and feel of her, and he stopped what she might have said with a kiss because he knew what she needed. And if he couldn't tell which one of them was shaking, it hardly seemed to matter. His callused palms smoothed down her flanks, raising goosebumps before erasing them with another soothing stroke. 

She managed through some feat of gymnastics to get her pajama bottoms down and off without losing complete contact with him, and he only broke away long enough to put on a condom. She was watching his face, the intensity in his expression, and after he rolled the latex over his erection he wedged his lower half between her soft thighs. The lush fullness of her was in sharp contrast to the almost predatory look in her eyes, and his hands gripped her hips tighter in response. And now he was definitely shaking, but so was she.

Wanda opened her legs wider as Clint took hold of his cock, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. His weight was both a comfort and a torment, because she wanted more, the stretch of him insider her. "Sorry if I hurt you," he said in a mutter, and she shook her head almost desperately. "You could never hurt me. _Have_ never hurt me."

"I love you, Wanda."

He said it into her mouth, his lips against hers as a distraction, the fierceness of her assurance pulling it out of him. He did love her, as a friend and as a teammate, and if he was not _in_ love with her, every obstacle between them had been blasted out of the way by her strength and his obstinate insistence on hanging around. She clutched at his shoulders at the pressing of his erect cock against her entrance, then more pressure, and then he was inside her. Different than his fingers, going deeper and a little wider.

"Barton...Clint... _Hawkeye_..."

His now-free hand grabbed for the headboard, and she was almost unbearably tight. She'd never called him Hawkeye before, or she had but not like that. He felt her teeth nip at his shoulder, and he bit the side of her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She whined her pleasure, and it tore him asunder.

She picked up his rhythm with her chin digging into his shoulder, and this was what she wanted, to not be handled as if she were fragile. Breakable. Clint was a man, could be _her_ man if he wanted, his calm balancing out her kineticism. Because she believed it when he said he loved her. Her legs tightened around his waist, hipbones digging into the insides of her thighs sharply enough to bruise.

It was hell, because she was almost _too _tight, but the way she was moving under him said she'd been reading the want on him for months. He could hear the bedsprings over the sound of their breathing, her moans and his panting, but just barely.__

__"I can't...I can't last..."_ _

__She shook her head again, negation and acceptance and she was a goddess, a warrior come to him from the ashes she'd risen from. They could do this again later, slower and more leisurely. The discomfort had been washed away, and if she was sore later, it was very much worth it._ _

__Clint let out a muffled yell as he finished, filling the rubber, and Wanda clamped even tighter around him as she rushed to catch up. The sheet beneath them was damp with water and sweat. He attached his mouth to the bite mark he'd left, sucked at it in a belated attempt to ease the pain._ _

__"You...you okay?"_ _

__"Mmm."_ _

__It was a purr from deep in her chest, and she cradled his face between her palms. He was staring at her as though he'd never seen her before, and maybe he hadn't. When they returned to the world, things would be different, and Wanda was fine with that. She'd found the things she never thought she'd have again; trust, affection, friendship. Desire and even love, since the archer's hands on her never failed to make her shiver just a little._ _

__"Uh..."_ _

__"You never miss, remember?"_ _

__He laughed as he eased his weight off of her, and the patch of blood on the sheet caused a pang that was lessened by her answering the question he couldn't quite ask. He'd wanted her first time to be about her pleasure, not his, and there was time now. More than enough time._ _

__Clint disposed of the used condom in the bathroom, returned to bed to pull the sheet over them. Wanda laced her fingers through his, brought his hand to her mouth to kiss it. "I love you." She said it against his knuckles, and he put his other arm around her. "We'll sleep for a while, then I'll fix something to eat. We're going to need our strength. And I love you too."_ _

__The slightly pinched expression on Wanda's face relaxed, and she snuggled down into the bed and his arms. The world could be as cold and rough as it wanted. There was more than enough good in it now to balance out the bad._ _


End file.
